Saviour
by earlgreydreams
Summary: Marko patiently waits for acceptance. One-shot, complete.


"No, wait! I'm not meant for this life, please-" she begged, holding onto his arm desperately, petrified that he would leave her alone in the flickering darkness once more, "-please don't leave me here again, please, please let me go.."

He said nothing, studying her with detached, quiet eyes. The damp, bitter chill of the room hung in the air and he smiled, watching her cowering body in the flickering, dull glow of the few candles he had provided. As she ran to him with a panicked lurch, the old and rusted chain securing her to her prison followed, grating and jangling across the floor in a snaking motion.

With trembling hands, she clutched at his white shirt instead, begging him to face her, to listen to her words, her cries, "It's dark..it's cold, I need..please, please let me go-"

"-where? Where would you go?" he asked quietly, stroking her cheek with the back of his index finger, "you're a ghost..you already have a grave.."

She closed her eyes, lips quivering under the threat of helpless tears.

"Corrupted remains always mean a quicker burial" he told her relentlessly, "you're gone...you don't exist...so where would you go?"

"Please.."

"You're so beautiful.." he told her, letting his thumb dance over her lower lip.

She pulled away cringing from his soft, intimate touch.

"Please.."

"No" he said, his voice gentle and kind despite the bluntness of his words, "you're mine, I'll never let you go-"

As a sob escaped her and as her hands slackened against his chest, he carried on, "-but I will free you. All you have to do is accept me"

She shook her head and he smiled, "accept me and you'll be free..."

He took a step forward, smiling with delight as she took a fearful step back. He knew her resolve was waning. She had taken a step backwards but her hands were still there, soft and light against his chest and she didn't flinch when he followed her movements, "isn't that what you want?"

He tugged her close, his eyes glittering with malicious delight as she whimpered but did not fight, "it _is_ what you want, right? You want to be free, you keep saying it..."

"..no..no I want to _go_...I want to go...please, let me go..."

She was weak, faltering. He knew she would crumble eventually.

He knew she would succumb to him.

"Accept me...that's all you need to do...it will all be over...you're designed for this, you're designed for me, for the moonlight..." she was still wearing her prom dress, the full gown black and inky against her milky white skin. He had made her bathe but the dress remained. She looked so perfect in it, he wouldn't allow her to change. Her hair was curled messily around her shoulders. She was almost translucent, ethereal. She was made to be bathed in moonlight, to be standing by his side "..why do you crave the sun? Why are you fighting against what you're made for..._who_ you're made for?"

Her lip trembled.

"It doesn't hurt" he said quietly, his voice intent. He watched with silent delight as the beauty cowered into herself, as she flinched gently from his lies. She knew them to be lies, she had heard the screams and gurgled chokes of her friends as he and his pack had slaughtered them. They died in undeniable pain and trauma and fear. The smell of their vomit, urine and the metallic, thick twang of their blood had hung in the air, the mixing of smells becoming almost tangible, settling and nesting among their drained, mutilated bodies. She had stood there, frozen in fear, frozen in terror..the victor, the sole survivor, "...it's the most wonderful feeling"

He reached out his hand once more, resting it on the delicate curve of her neck, his snakelike smile growing as he watched her breasts straining against the tight chiffon of her dress, her breath hitching and unsure. He remembered how she had run, her full skirt billowing out behind her, once braided hair streaming through the wind. They had allowed her to flee, laughing as they began to burn the bodies and building that had played host to what had been a wonderfully cliche, all-American after party.

He had wanted her to run, he had wanted to chase her. He had delighted in her gasps, her desperate whimpers. He had given chase with a practiced but exciting slowness, hearing her small heels meet the sidewalk, then the wooden planks of the pier. Her fear and confusion had been palpable, she had scrambled down the empty pathways, too breathless to scream, to cry, but knowing in her heart that it was futile anyway. The night was theirs, they were alone. He had watched with delight as she had stumbled, finally, and sank into the sand of the empty and desolate beach, scooting backwards in terror as he approached her.

She could do nothing but crawl, to sob, to watch his calculated movements.

She had been so perfect in her terror.

"You'll chase it, you'll_ crave _it" he told her darkly, feeling her pulse beating with a dedicated and determined thud. Captivity hadn't diminished her health, he had made sure of that, "one bite will never be enough..."

She shook her head, a lone and beautiful tear dropping down her pale, drawn face.

She was stunning in her fear.

"...it won't hurt..." she looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, "..it won't be painful for you..."

He didn't miss her pause, that little beat of hopeful fear that caused her body to jerk almost imperceptibly. She was frightened of the pain, of experiencing the same, horrific death as her friends. She would be stupid not to be afraid and it delighted him to see that flicker of guilty relief change her features. It was the briefest of sparks, the smallest change before fear clouded her thoughts once more but he would make her see.

He would show her.

With him, it would be the most addictive pain. It would leave her wanting and begging for more and he would be more than happy to fulfill her.

"Death doesn't hurt" he told her in a murmur, watching her closely, waiting for another spark of hope or relief.

"..I don't...I don't want..to..to...die..." she whimpered, trembling still.

"It's beautiful..." he told her, "don't think of dying, think of your rebirth..."

Her fingers curled into his chest.

"Dying is nothing. They'll build a shrine to you...to all of you" he told her, referencing the mangled and now burned corpses that weeks before had been living, breathing, laughing people, "they'll remember and mourn you and use your memory as a symbol...a symbol to live each day, to pass math, to stay away from drugs..whatever it is your small little friends need...you'll inspire them...your yearbook picture, your forced smile..people will look at it and they'll be moved to do the best for themselves, to live their lives in the way they thought you couldn't..." another tear traced down her cheek and he bathed in it, bathed in her pain, "..until, of course, they take it down...store the candles, trash the flowers...until you're all forgotten...but what a noble little death, hmm?" he laughed softly, "they _will _forget...time will pass and your memory will fade..."

"...stop..." she whispered.

"..but only with them..."

Her eyes flickered towards his for a moment and he allowed his fingers to deftly dance over the skin of her neck.

She watched him with wide eyes.

"..you'll be with me..forever. Worshiped, revered-"

"-no-" she protested weakly and he nodded with glee, "yes"

She looked so hopeless, so small.

"Think of what I've done for you...what I've done to get you.." she sobbed loudly and he smiled, "..all the things I will do to keep you..."

She made a delightful little whimper and he smiled, "mortality is a disease.."

He studied her, memorizing the curves of her body, "you're mine...I'm saving you from the hideous, slow death that is living-"

"-please..."

He shushed her gently, his hand tightening softly around her neck. He pulled her closer still, his arm wrapped around her lower back. She didn't resist but her trembles were undeniable, he could feel them wracking her body.

"I'm all you have now" he told her, "stop fighting me...accept me"

"...I...I'm frightened" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"It's been so long.." he murmured, his hand snaking over her neck, cupping it softly, "..your freedom is here. You're meant for me, you _are_ meant for this"

"...please.." she whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

She was unwilling to face the reality of her words.

"Please what?" he asked, voice as low as hers.

He wanted to hear it. He wanted her to ask.

She was asking for release and he wanted to hear it.

"...I...I want to be free..." she whispered, more tears falling, "..please..."

Her breath hitched again and he used his hand to pull her flush against him. She whimpered but her eyes remained closed, steadfastly so. As his hand moved upwards from the nape of her elegant neck, he curled his fingers into her hair, tugging her head back with a gentle force. As her back arched and he supported her trembling body fully, he saw more tears gathering in the corners of her shut eyes.

She had asked for freedom and he wanted to give it to her.

"Please..please Marko" she cried, her voice a broken and strained whisper, "..please, I'm so scared.."

Inhaling her scent, her fear, he placed a delicate kiss on the soft, taught flesh of her neck.

It was the first time she had said his name.

"Don't be" he whispered, teeth grazing her skin in a deliberate movement. As he moved his hand up and away from her back, he took in every shiver, every shake of her body, "I'm going to take it all away..your fear..your pain..I'm your savior..."

She cried out, a delightful, musical cry of surprise and pain as he bit into her neck. His own eyes closed in ecstasy as her sweet blood, the blood he had craved and longed for, finally filled his mouth.

She was holding onto his arm with a desperate, needful grip, and while her breathing was deep and labored, he knew it wasn't from fear. Her throaty gasps, her cries...he knew that they were from lust, from need.

He knew that she was his, she was caught in him, enraptured by his bite.

He hadn't lied to her, he had not misled her. He had been honest.

Brutally so.

He slowly knelt to the floor, her body becoming limp in his arms as he continued to drink from her.

Her hand twitched before falling from his arm, dropping to the floor with a listless thud.

He pulled away, looking down at her, looking down at his prize.

He would be back tomorrow, perhaps the day after.

He was going to make her crave him just as much as he craved her. He hadn't lied, one bite would never be enough.

Gently, reverently taking her limp hand, he placed a kiss on her bruised knuckles.

He wondered how long it would be until she begged him to turn her.


End file.
